


Fate, Destiny, and Other Mumbo Jumbo

by cygnea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Magic, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Witches, and then some kissing, most of it is just keith and lance yelling at each other about witchcraft, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnea/pseuds/cygnea
Summary: In which Keith is a rookie new wizard and Lance has been one of the Best™ witches in the area since he was like, 12. And Keith seeks the help of Lance a magic tutor, whether he likes it or not, but Lance has been getting some Strange™ dream prophecies, but it's all just some Mumbo Jumbo, right?





	1. Chapter 1

As a magic user, Lance McClain has had tons of adventures.

He's been on quests for a so called "Holy Grail" (which, by the way, is literally just a quest that every other witch-in-training has gone through at the age of twelve), he's brewed some sketchy and somewhat explosive potions (mostly experimenting in his teen years though; he just had to find a way to cram a bunch of information into that brain of his), and probably most remarkably of all, he's learned to fly (it was more like two feet off the ground, but whatever). 

So yeah, Lance McClain has had tons of adventures. He's also learned tons of spells and potions from said adventures: from spells of creating a familiar to potions that make him hold his breath under water, you name it, he's probably done it. Lance even likes to think that he's the most experienced witch of all time. 

Well, what a lie that was.

Let's just say... college was much different from witchy adventures.

In college, there was no after-school mini quests, barely time for experimenting with new spells, and there was definitely no time to buy potions or potion ingredients to *ahem* keep him awake. Plus, the workload in activities in college was nearly triple the amount that Lance was used to in high school. Though, he was lucky; fashion design as a major was much lighter-handed in the homework department than his roommate, Pidge's, major, biochemistry. 

But still, Lance had work to do. Such as for instance, who knew fashion design  _actually_  required essays? Yup, even if it was just fashion design and not something like biochemistry, Lance found himself awake late at night to write the demanding essays. 

Which is where, dear audience, the story begins. 

* * *

"Holy. Fuck. Like,  _holy fuck_! I'm never gonna stay awake this late to finish this thing!" Lance groaned to himself, letting his head thudding roughly against the smooth wood of his dorm desk. The hard surface smacked his cheek solidly, and Lance let out another low groan of complaint. "Just one night of rest!" 

Pidge1 shot a look over her shoulder from her desk to check up on Lance, and upon seeing the Cuban male slumped over in frustration, she scoffed. "You're complaining way too much. Why don't you just order from that potion place you usually hang out at? Y'know, the shady one where you got me my frog for biology?"

Lance turned in his chair to pout at Pidge. "First of all, it was a magic  _toad_. Second of all, I highly doubt that place is even open right now, so I guess you'll just have to listen to my complaints, Pidge." He crossed his arms, giving Pidge a triumphant smile. 

"Yeah-huh," Pidge replied, rolling her eyes before turning back to her laptop. "What was that place called again anyways?" 

"Geez, I do you one favor from my favorite magic shop and you seem to have forgotten the name of it already? For shame." Lance screwed his lips to one side of his face, casting Pidge a smart look. To his disappointment however, Pidge just stared at him, blank-faced with her clean, light auburn eyebrows hunched low on her face. Pidge, obviously, was in no mood to play around. 

"Name."

With an irked groan, the Cuban finally gave in, letting out a groan as he leaned back into his chair defeatedly. "Vrepit-Sal's," he moaned. "Should be on the corner of--"

"Unilu and Swaps, yeah, I know. And it's open by the way," Pidge added, turning her laptop to show Lance the screen. Vrepit-Sal's business was displayed on the screen, Google displaying the popular visiting hours and phone number beneath a description of the location and a few pictures.

Lance warily eyed at the screen warily but slipped out his phone from the table, already starting to dial the number. Out of his view, Pidge was smiling smugly to herself as she exited out of the tab once she heard the familiar sound of the dial sound. Ah yes, there was the sound of defeat as Lance gave in to call the place.

"Vrepit-Sal's, how can we help out with your wizardry and witchery needs?" Chirped the voice of the cashier on the other end. 

Lance sighed to himself and combed his fingers through his disheveled hair. "Hi. This is Lance, the one guy who always hangs out at your shop--"

"Oh, Lancey-Lance!" The voice at the other end giggled. Lance pouted at said voice, now able to identify it as Nyma, one of the longest employees of Vrepit-Sal's and the one who always memorized Lance's orders based on the expression he showed each time he walked through those doors. 

"Yeah, hey Nyma. You guys are still open, right?" The Cuban confirmed, anxiously leaning back in his chair and tapping the hand rest of his chair impatiently. 

Nyma's voice answered almost immediately. "Of course! What do you need this time, Lance?" The sounds of shuffling came from the other end, Nyma now ready to take Lance's order. 

The fashion-design major brought two fingers up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself focused on the task at hand rather than dozing off. "Um, can I get bottle of that all-nighter potion you guys have?" 

"Sure! Would you like the eight fluid once or the sixteen--"

"Sixteen," Lance stated quickly. "And I assume it'll be same price as in store?"

"That is correct!" Nyma chirped. "Would you like it to be picked up or delivered?"

Lance took a moment to consider the options. Honestly, he'd prefer to have it picked up; he doubted that having random strangers appear at his doorstep would make Pidge happy, but it was pretty late at night. And Lance didn't really want to go out when it was so dark and (for lack of a better term) creepy. The streets looked different at night, and even if Lance knew the way there, he was sure he'd be confused and lost later on. 

"Delivered," Lance answered firmly. "And you need my address, right?"

"That is correct. Now, address please?" Nyma hummed on the other side. Lance rambled off the university dorm's address and room number, making sure to take it slow so Nyma could get all parts of the address. Once he was finished, Nyma's voice came through the other side again. "That should do it! Please expect the delivery to reach its destination in about ten to fifteen minutes!"

A sigh of relief swept through Lance, and he relaxed in his seat. "Alright, thanks Nyma! Have a nice night."

"Good night to you too, Lance. Good luck!" 

And with that, the line cut off, and Lance slumped into his chair, making Pidge glance over her laptop with a raised eyebrow. "Is everything alright there, Lance?" 

Lance's hand shot up in an 'OK' gesture, but the owner of that hand itself was grumbling a long string of curses under his breath. "Yup! Fine, super fine! Except for the fact that I forgot how much I hated doing business over the phone," he grumbled. 

Pidge blinked, but her confused expression soon died down into one of sympathy. A chuckle tumbled from the biochem major's lips, and she sat back with her arms crossed. "You get used to it, Lance. Don't strain yourself now..." Pidge's amber eyes flicked to the laptop upon Lance's desk once before returning her attention back onto Lance. "You should get to work on that essay though. Maybe then you won't even need to use that potion thing of yours."

Disgruntled, Lance emitted a long breath as e righted himself back up on his chair. "Fine. You're right anyways," he mumbled as he rubbed his face. Lance sighed and turned back to his laptop, focused back on at his blank paper (hold for the MLA formatted header at the top of his page). He stretched out his arms in front of him; a satisfying crack popped from his arms and shoulders before he began typing. 

"Great... Page one. Paragraph one. Ugh, oh  _joy_."

***

"For the love of God, Lance, wake up. Your delivery is here." Pidge ~~nudged~~  shoved Lance awake. "Geez, you sleep like a freaking  _brick_ , Lance, get up! This guy's asking for you, hurry up and answer him."

Lance's eyelids fluttered open, and the boy himself slowly sat back up. He wore a sleepy expression, and a dribble of drool ran from his lip to his chin, causing Pidge to recoil in disgust. 

"Eugh, Lance! Get a grip of yourself," Pidge commented, lightly slapping Lance's arm to wake him up. "Your potion's here, you need to pay for it."

"Wha-? How long was I out...?" The fashion major questioned, starting to come to terms as he stood up on sleepy, wobbily legs. He lifted a darkly tanned hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes as he grabbed his wallet from the drawer, shuffling himself to the door of their dorm. 

Pidge shrugged, making her way back to her own desk. "About fifteen minutes or so," she informed with a smirk. "Though you barely made any progress on your essay. The only thing that's on it is the word, "The," " Pidge pointed out with a snicker. 

Lance rolled his eyes as he made his way to the front door. "Haha, very funny. I'm tired." A string of curses left under Lance's breath as he opened the door. And boy was that a sight.

The delivery boy was right on his doorstep, holding out a Kraft paper bag (with Vrepit-Sal's label stamped on one side) in one hand, his other hand holding a phone with a credit card reader stuck in it. His sharp, obsidian eyes bore right into Lance's own, intimidating Lance enough to the core to make him freeze in his tracks. But that wasn't the main reason why Lance was so shocked. 

" _Keith_?" Lance sputtered, flailing his arms out of shock. 

This couldn't be right. Ambitious, impulsive, somewhat emo Keith from high school was at Lance's doorstep, despite Lance believing that he'd never see Keith again a day in his life? Okay, well admittedly, Lance did expect to see him from time to time, since he heard that Keith would also be attending the same university as a music major. 

What really shocked Lance was Keith working for Vrepit-Sal's. The magic supply store. When, if Lance's memory was right, Keith was in no way associated with magic. At. All. 

Lance's head buzzed from the sudden information, but Keith didn't seem to be too fazed upon seeing Lance.

"Uh, yeah, hi, sorry. Um, I'm looking for Lance McClain?" Keith inquired, holding up the paper bag. "This is supposed to go to him."

"You don't remember me?" Lance's face fell into a look of annoyance, and he crossed his arms with an irked pout. "Um,  _hello_! Keith, c'mon man. We were, like, rivals back at Garrison High? Doesn't junior and senior year Spanish ring a bell?" Lance quirked an eyebrow, expecting for the old classmate to recall  _something_ , but Keith only showed signs of confusion and nothing else as he held the bag expectantly. Lance groaned, slumping in defeat. "Ugh, _dios m_ _ío_ , do you remember  _this_  at least?" 

Out of nowhere, Lance leaned against the doorframe and took a hand to slick back his hair, casting a flirty look to God-knows-what in the background. His hands positioned in a finger gun with a twinkling smile confident enough to charm the ladies. 

Ah yes. Now Keith remembered. This ridiculous kid. 

Keith's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Y'know, I was expecting some college senior to make this order, not you. And I definitely wasn't expecting  _you_  to be the wizard everyone's been talking about," he muttered the last bit under his breath, casting his eyes blandly off to the side, his head soon to follow. "How lame."

Immediately, Lance gasped. "I am offended! Me? Lame? How dare you!" The Cuban boy crossed his arms in a huff. "Just what were you expecting me to be in the first place? Some old wizard guy with some longass beard and a thick-ass, heavy-ass robe? I  _think_  the  _fuck_  not. I'm a _witch_ , not a wizard. Wizards are old guys too caught up in tradition, and who has time for that?"

After the short speech, Lance immediately silenced himself, turning his head and sticking his nose in the air snobbily. Although a twinge of curiosity  _did_  gnaw at him as Keith rolled his eyes. 

"Everyone's been talking about me?" 

Oh yeah. Keith definitely remembered this guy. Keith forced himself to smile. _You found him, Keith. Now just ask him a teensy, tiny question...._  "Oh yeah! They talk about you  _loads_  at Vrepit-Sal's." 

_But first, let me be a butt-kisser first._

"They do?" Lance opened an eye, casting a wary glance at Keith. 

"Oh yeah. Tons. You're some prodigy or whatever, right? You've only been at magic for a couple years but you can already handle wandless magic? That's incredible," Keith complimented, though this time earnestly. "And your work with water magic is unparalleled according to the other employees at Vrepit-Sal's. Just how do you do it?"

_Easy now, Keith. Ease him into the question..._

Thankfully, Keith's plan was working because now Lance was interested. The fashion major was smirking, giggling to himself like the low-key narcissist he was. 

"I guess I'm just a natural," Lance answered lightheartedly. "A prodigy of sorts?" He chuckled to himself, bringing his fingers up to his chin in the shape of a 'V.' "I mean, after all, I _did_  only start just a few years ago. Why, jealous?" 

_Go now._

"Actually, I guess you could say so," Keith lied, shrugging. "Must be nice to be a natural; I just have to take it easy and just practice, I guess..." Keith feigned a sigh and looked at his feet as he held the bag out to Lance. "Anyways, here. Take your potion. That'll be six dollars please."

"Right..." Lance now sounded dejected. Sympathetic. Perhaps even sorry for Keith? Wow, and Keith isn't even that great of an actor, score one for Keith. 

Sure, Lance knew that he said that he was a prodigy, but that wasn't necessarily the case. Sure, he was naturally gifted; tons of other witches said it themselves,  _but I mean... I_ did _practice and work hard to become good these past couple of years..._  He thought to himself as he took out a few dollar bills before handing it over to Keith. 

Seeing sad looking Keith now made him feel squirmish. Typical emo Keith, right? Lance didn't like seeing emo Keith, it was kind of annoying.

"Anyways, thank you for choosing Vrepit-Sal's, I have to get going now..." Keith sighed, turning to exit the college dormitory hallway. "I'll see you later, Lance." Keith's pace at walking away was slow, hopefully giving Lance enough time to contemplate and call him back. Man, Keith swore he could read Lance like a book. That kid was just way too predictable. 

_In three.... two.... one..._

"Hey, wait a minute, Keith! I can tutor you!" Lance screeched, lunging out a hand to stop Keith. "I can tutor you in magic if you want!" He offered, shooting Keith a dazzling smile. 

 _Bingo_. 

A smirk appeared across Keith's face, but he quickly swept it off and morphed it into a full on smile as he turned around with his personal phone, swiping this way and that to make a new contact. "Great, if you could just trade numbers with me so you can help me out with my magic, that'd be great!"

Lance's expression slumped into a blunt one as he passed over his own phone to Keith, trading the devices. "You were planning this all along, weren't you?" 

"Yup." Keith quickly typed in his number and name at the same time as Lance, quickly then exchanging devices again. "Thanks anyway!"

The fashion major groaned, leaning against his doorframe again. "You could've just asked! I wouldn't have minded training you." Lance crossed his arms, pouting. "Now I know all those compliments were just there to kiss up to my ass."

Keith shrugged, starting to turn back to leave, but his face was still turned to Lance. "Hey, they weren't all lies. I actually might respect you as a witch, so there's a compliment for you." Keith grinned slyly, now starting to pick up the pace to get back to work. "I've gotta get back to Vrepit-Sal's. See you later, tutor!" And with that, Keith was gone, leaving Lance to stand in his doorway with a blank expression.

But as soon as Keith was gone, Pidge's voice called from the other room. "That took a while. Get started on that essay."

Lance shook his head as he walked back in, taking out the glass bottle and beginning to chug it as he neared his desk. "I can't believe that ass convinced me to tutor him," he grumbled, sounding very convincing to himself, but unfortunately, not to Pidge. 

"Didn't you say that you didn't mind? I thought you wanted to tutor someone anyways," Pidge pointed out.

Lance elected to ignore Pidge's call out as he rolled up to his computer, taking yet another gulp of his stay-awake potion. "Whatever, Pidge. I'm working on this essay."


	2. Chapter 2

As previously mentioned, Lance was now not only a tutor but also sleep deprived. And as previously stated at the introduction of chapter one, Lance also has successfully conjured up a familiar. And said familiar was like a mother. 

By that, we're talking about full out crazy mother who constantly berates him for not getting enough sleep. 

"Stop it, Blue!" Lance whines as the tiny ghostly blue lion spirit paws at his ear with an aggression that is only possible from the spirit. 

From his shoulder, his familiar lets out a low whine that shifts into a growl. It (well, technically it was a _she_ by the lack of a mane) swats at his ear again, but this time, Lance is affected enough to throw down his pen and slam his laptop shut. 

"What is it? I have a fashion essay due tomorrow at nine in the morning that's supposed to be eight pages, and I've only got half a page down!" Lance argues as he watches the lion spirit float down from his shoulders and settle on top of his closed laptop. 

A rumble comes from the back of Blue's throat, but Lance isn't sure if it's a purr or a growl. Either way, the spirit jerks its head towards Lance's bed and refuses to leave his laptop. 

Lance, having been bonded with his familiar since the eighth grade, can already tell what Blue is trying to say. Of course, practically being Lance's mother means that Blue shares the same trait of pestering Lance to get some sleep. 

"I'm busy," Lance grumbles, crossing his arms and holding his nose up high. He refuses to look at Blue, so the familiar lets out a frustrated whine. 

Communicating with a series of whines, growls, and light hisses, Lance argues with Blue the same way a child does to his mother. 

"No–! Blue, I'm telling you– Ugh, don't you get it?! My essay is due soon! I'm–" Lance's hands fly to his head out of frustration before he lets them fall. His lips are pursed in a frown. "If I don't get this done now, when am I ever–"

He stops in the middle of his sentence when he sees that he's tested Blue's patience long enough. Rather than a usual pale, icy blue glow that Blue holds in her eyes, they warm to a yellow that faintly resembles the bright arches of a fast food chain. Blue's tail flicks dangerously as she stands, and she bares her teeth. 

Lance tenses immediately, and his hands fly to his rescue in a surrender. "Whoa! Blue, there's no need for that!" He yelps. 

His pleading doesn't do much help. Blue only further demonstrates power as a lion spirit. She outgrows her usual stuffed-toy size within seconds to become larger than his desk, resulting in her having to step down from the flat surface and onto the ugly, carpeted floor. 

A growl is evident throughout the room now, and Lance wonders how Pidge doesn't even bat an eyelash from their own biochemistry essay while he's being harassed by his familiar! 

"Blue, stop it!" He orders, but his voice is wavering. Lance backs up now, out of intimidation, until something pushes against the back of his knees, causing him to fall backwards. Luckily it's only his bed, and when he crawls on his hands on the bed whilst still facing Blue, it's as if he can see the phantom smirk painted on Blue's muzzle.

_Stupid familiar and her stupid rules,_  Lance gripes. Now that he's on the bed now, he's fully aware that Blue's won the game of "Let's Stop Lance from Overworking Himself," so he allows a disturbing groan out from the back of his throat. 

"Fine! You win!" Preferring not to argue with his vicious familiar anymore, Lance angrily pushes his covers down and rolls into his sleeping spot, which is indicated by the shallow dent in the mattress from sleeping in the exact same position for so many nights. 

A pleased expression somehow appears on Blue's features, and she stops pacing about the empty space on the floor in favor of sitting down. Her upper form looms over Lance's body to ensure that he keeps his promise and goes to sleep. 

"Stupid cat," Lance insults (though it actually makes Blue purr with amusement). He helps himself on to his forearms so he leans over to his nightstand to click the lamp off. Once that's off, Blue aids in him in registering all the lights off by using her tail to flick the switch of the desk lamp to the off position. 

And now, Lance is met with near-total darkness, hold the faint glowing shapes of Blue's yellow eyes (now turning back to a ghostly blue) and the low light emitting from Pidge's laptop. He lets out a breathy sigh, flipping on his back now so he doesn't have to be met with the harsh glare of Blue's faint outline. But before he knows it, the lion spirit is the size of a small stuffed animal again, and he can feel her curled into a loose ball in the space between his head and shoulder. 

Lance sighs. "G'night Blue."

Blue only huffs in response. 

 

* * *

 

Lance finds himself... somewhere. 

In a place where there are high beige walls bathed in a strange sunlight, Lance stands atop the flat surface of the large-bricked walls. Wildly spinning in pace to observe his surroundings, he takes in the sight of the glorious shape of mountains in the distance, outlined by a soft light.

_Where in the world–?_  Lance strains for some other clues. Something to hint why he is here or what this place is, but he can only notice the bustling of a marketplace below, near the base of the wall. A faded maroon canvas tent cover flaps awkwardly by his feet, and long, two-pronged flags billow ever so softly in the light breeze. 

There is a mix of smells in the air: freshly baked bread and sharp spices that mingle with the pungent and disturbing scent of... was that manure?

Lance recoils from his senses. His hands shoot up to his face, holding them tightly to cover his nose and mouth, as if that will hinder the smells. _It helps a little bit..._

One thing was for sure: as much as Lance wanted answers, there was no way he was going down to that marketplace to ask around. 

He turns on his heel with his nose still protected and follows the length of the wall. While he doesn't know where he's going, he just wants to escape the horrendous smell for now. Who the heck even has their cows and their bakery next to each other in the first place?! 

Lance shakes his head at the thought. Add that onto the list of things that he found weird. Actually, in fact, there were a lot of strange things going on...

Wasn't it supposed to be autumn? If he remembers correctly, college started barely just a month ago, and he swears the leaves of the university's campus were already starting to dry into crisp yellows and oranges. 

This place was summery. On the opposite side of the wall, there are rolling hills of the purest shade of green, with scattered dots of colors – probably from flowers, he presumes. A warm air was met with an occasional breeze, but that doesn't do much to cool down Lance in his long-sleeved shirt and dark pants. 

An even stranger fact was that by the time Lance had walked far away enough from the marketplace, he meets houses by the rooftop. But these aren't just any houses though; unlike normal suburban neighborhoods with their white picket fences and light-bricked exteriors, these homes were more like huts. 

Rooftops with loose red material that attached to white plastered walls. The walls were clearly old, by the way they were showing dark yellow and pieces had chipped and broken off to expose brick. 

_A village, maybe?_  He guesses.  _Probably somewhere in Europe_. 

Lance lets his hands fall to his side once he's sure that the smell is gone, but for some reason, he finds that his feet continue to lead him down the wall. He doesn't mind too much at this point though. With the warm rays of sunlight on his body, the new fresh air, and the distant sounds of bird chirps, he thinks he's quite content, actually. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and whistles while he walks.

_I could get used to this_ , he admits to himself.  _If only_ –

"Sir, what are you doing atop of the wall?!" A panicked voice rises from below. 

Well that sure got Lance's attention. Enough so that Lance not only looks at the person in surprise, but he also lightly jumps in his spot. Had he done something wrong?!

Peering down at the speaker, Lance is more than surprised to find that the speaker is an older woman decked in a full-length white dress, but it's tattered and covered in mucky stains. A corseted apron the color of clay pots surrounds her midsection and the dress. Some sort of a weird, ugly bandanna is tied back to hold her hair away from her face. 

In a few words, the fashionista in Lance can only describe her as, "Ugly. But only because of her clothes."

But then it hits him while the woman is rambling to Lance about the safeties of the wall. 

Why is she wearing  _that_?! Panic strikes Lance straight on. 

"And sir, what are you wearing?! No Paladin should be wearing clothes like that, what about your  _armor_ –?!"

"Paladin? Sir? Armor?" Lance echoes, tugging on his hair now as he's fitting the pieces together. "What kind of  _dream_  am I in?! In what kind of dream am I stuck in this disgusting hellhole?! What is this, the pigsty of Europe?"

The look on the woman's face is enough to confirm a part of Lance's suspicions. "Disgusting hellhole?" She repeats, "I dare say, Blue Paladin, you'd best– What the–?!"

Even though Lance isn't normally one to leave in the middle of a conversation, he can't help but feel elated knowing what the situation consisted of. 

"This is all a dream!" Lance shouts as he runs across the top of the wall. His feet pound into the hard, light-colored stone beneath him, and every few steps, he can't help but leap into the air joyously. 

Ah, now he definitely remembers. Blue nagging him to get to bed. Abandoning that stupid fashion essay. Yes, it was all coming back to him now, but Lance just wanted to forget all of those real-life issues for once and instead just focus on the dream.

"Focus on the dream, focus on the dream!" Oh great, he's singing to himself; he thinks he's the best singer to ever grace this Earth, despite making up the song he's currently singing right on the spot. 

Lance is enjoying this more than he should be. 

The air, the flowers, the atmosphere, the medieval setting: it's all perfect, it makes the dream more interesting.

Until he nearly trips over something.

Except that  _something_  seems more like a  _someone_. And  _someone_  seems more like multiple someones. 

Lance barely has enough time to catch himself before the two people under him make a clamber to stand back up again. He registers some shouting of surprise, with glimpses of a dusty navy and vibrant rust. 

The moment ends all too soon, both the fall and the dream, but before he even wakes up, Lance swears he sees a pair of sharp, steely eyes looking down at him with concern. 

 

* * *

 

Something's ringing. Or actually, nothing's ringing because stupid Lance never actually set an alarm to take up to last night. Why would he when he's already got the most perfect alarm: a yowling Blue in front of his face each morning, with her misty azure eyes staring straight into his each morning. 

As much as Lance respects and adores his familiar, sometimes Blue is just a pain in the ass to handle, so he lifts his hand up to Blue's face, grabs her by the muzzle, and shoves her out of the way before flipping onto his other side and gripping the covers tighter to himself.

He wants to return back to that dream. He wants to see what's happening after he had fallen on top of those people; what were their reactions? He wants to explore that dreamworld even more, to experience more things and interact with more people. It was one of his best dreams by far. 

But Blue isn't taking any of his shit.

She's yowling and growing again out of anger – there goes the angry mother again. With one giant paw, she easily swipes the thick duvet off of Lance's body. The witch is whining and feeling for his covers, but alas, they're not there.

One more yowl and an intimidating growl and Lance begrudgingly sits up, with his eyes formed as slits at his lion spirit. 

"How dare you?" He complains, beginning to rub his face with one hand. His warm hand lingers on one eye as he dutifully rubs it (despite the damage he knows it might cause, but they're risks that he's willing to take for his usual morning comfort) with a yawn tumbling from his mouth. After that, with a quick glance at his roommate's bed, he notices that Pidge is already up and gone. It makes him wonder just when he has woken up. "What time is it?"

Blue's tail and paw twitch (from annoyance, perhaps?) but she turns her head toward the clock on the nightstand, signaling for him to check the hour. Lance obeys the lion spirit's command for once and shifts his gaze to the harsh neon blue light of the digital clock. 

His eyes widen at the time.

"I'm late, holy shit!" Lance practically flies out of bed and grabs his toiletries before running out of his dorm. The door slams behind him with a startling sound as he sprints down the hallway, praying for at least one open sink in the communal bathroom. 

Meanwhile, Blue rests peacefully on his bed with a purr of amusement. 

Beside her, the clock reveals that the time is, in fact, two hours before he is supposed to be awake. Being the clever, motherly familiar she was, Blue had set his alarm clock two hours later to ensure that he would be awake in time to finish his essay and make it to class on time. Of course, there was some difficulty with using the buttons that were too tiny for her paws, plus the fact that dealing with modern technology wasn't exactly her expertise, but at least the deed was done. 

Lance really takes Blue for granted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance is too tired of Keith's lack of ability to schedule and also, we learn that Keith is lowkey a rich boi (not really).

"I hate you, Blue," Lance grumbles to Blue, who hides in oh-so fashionable messenger bag as they walk home from Lance's design class. 

From her position, Blue lets out a short whine as if to ask, "What's your problem?"

Lance doesn't need a translator to understand Blue – they've been together for long enough that they can understand each other no matter what. But alas, simply understanding Blue doesn't stop his fuming. "You woke me up way too early!" The male huffs, crossing his arms and hunching his back out of anger as he walks. 

Lance is definitely still not over Blue's motherly antics. He could have savored at least an extra hour and a half of sleep that his familiar mercilessly had taken away from him that morning, but noooo! Waking up that early and being forced to finish his essay (in all honesty, Lance half-assed the paper) before sprinting to a class he thought he was going to miss was not something he appreciated. 

So his plan after finishing up class for the day? Go home, catch up on sleep, and try not to worry about his other assignments and instead leave them to do last minute. Just the enticing thought of leaping into his glorious bed makes him feel energized; he can't wait to actually go do it!

Unfortunately, he's about to realize that the idea must be scrapped when he hears the faint ' _buzz!_ ' of his cell phone vibrating in his bag, and he stops to withdraw the blue-cased device with a groan. He swears, if this is his professor –

_Keith?_  Lance frowns to himself. Why was Keith calling – ? Oh. Right. Tutoring. But couldn't this wait some other time?!

Keith's text notification is an ugly sight on his screen, and he wants to get rid of it as soon as possible. Whatever he just sent remains unread; Lance will deal with it later,  _after_  his nap. He starts heading in the direction of his dorm again after he pockets the device back in the bag, but there's something about Keith that makes him annoying, and that thing is called  _persistence._  The witch elects to ignore the notification yet again.

But Lance's phone vibrates again. And again. And again. It continues to vibrate until Blue has had enough, sticking her head through the small opening of his bag and letting out a low yowl. Lance of course, refuses to pick up the phone. He crosses his arms and huffs. 

"Why should I help out that guy?" He grumbles. "He didn't help me back in high school."

Blue hisses, as if to say, "You promised him, didn't you?" Her master only flails his arms, groaning. 

"Yeah, but I didn't expect him to need me to tutor him this early!" He stops short once he hears his phone  _ringing_  now. Not buzzing from the text message notifications, but actually ringing Lance's ringtone. It signifies that no doubt, Keith has given up on spamming the poor boy and has resorted to actually calling him. 

Predictably enough, Lance elects to ignore the ringing and let it go to voice mail, but both Keith and Blue are persistent. Once the ringtone dies out and forces Keith to go to voicemail, Lance thinks he can relax. After all, what kind of monster would call twice in a row? Maybe if Lance can ignore him enough, Keith will think he's too busy to pick up. 

But this is a somewhat clingy Keith we're talking about, who's desperate for a tutoring session. The phone rings again, and Lance swears he will hunt down the rookie witch and clobber him if he keeps calling. It's also unfortunate that Blue seems to agree with the annoyance, but she handles it in a different way. 

While Lance is attempting to ignore the god-awful ringing in his bag, the ghostly familiar dives into the reaches of his bag to retrieve the device. A moment later, her head sticks out of the bag again, the phone in her mouth. Blue growls to catch his attention, pawing at his hand. 

The male glances down, about to retort some sarcastic decline again, but Blue is looking up with large, desperate eyes as the phone continues to make noise. A whine arises from the back of her throat. Now Lance is second-guessing his decision. He can't say no if Blue is making that face and is feeling weak from the annoying loudness of the phone!

Sighing, Lance mumbles a curt, "Fine," and snatches the phone from Blue's jaw, giving her a short pat on the head (which she purrs in thank you before diving back into the bag to hide). He aggressively presses the "Accept Call" button and brings the device up to his ear, making sure that Keith can hear his annoyed sigh. "What."

"Can we meet up to practice magic?" Keith's question is blunt, sharp, and not courteous at all. But Lance must admit, he is predictable. 

Rubbing his face while he walks, Lance only groans into the phone call, trying to seem a tired as possible. Hopefully mullet-head will get the idea. "Sorry buddy. Not up for it. I'm all tuckered out from classes and pulling an all-nighter last night. Rough day!" He's ready to end the call right then and there, but Keith interrupts him. 

"That's your own fault," Keith says. Lance can hear the aggravation in his voice, and he scowls when he does. 

"Now wait just a second, Keith!  _I'm_  the teacher, and  _you're_  the student in this scenario! You can't just randomly call me and demand for a tutoring session; I have a life!" Lance huffs, his pace picking up out of sheer annoyance at mullet-head. 

From the other side, Keith also is frustrated. If Lance doesn't want to do it, why didn't he just say no? Then they wouldn't have to be dealing with this problem! But it's not like Keith can let Lance be the one who got away; he needs this tutoring, for . . . Reasons. And Lance is the only one who can possibly help him with this because one, this is  _the_  Lance McClain we were talking about: prodigy witch, locally famous, and also, easy to find. And two, Keith simply knows that Lance is part of puzzle he needs to fix, so it is essential that the annoying fashion major helps him out. 

Plus, what's wrong with a little bit of tutoring?

"This tutoring session won't even need to be that long," Keith promises. "Dude, I'll even pay you."

"Why are you so desperate?" Lance snaps. The question makes Keith fume even more, and he presses the phone closer to his ear, his grip tightening so much he thinks he'll break his phone. 

"Because I'm already in front of your dorm. Sorry, but hurry up. We'll talk about it then." With that, Keith hangs up, leaving Lance to hold his phone away from his face with a faintly shocked expression, but it morphs into one of utter despise. 

Lance shoves the phone back into his bag, much to Blue's discomfort, but damn Keith! He annoys Lance to the extent of even out of this world! However, he can't keep Keith waiting, so Lance picks up the pace in his walk back to his dorm to a run. Before he knows it, he's sprinting down the sidewalk back to his dorm. His bag bounces comically against his side, but he doesn't mind it. After all, the bigger issue here is dealing with the annoying guy he was supposed to tutor.

Lance hates Keith so much. 

 

It doesn't take Lance long to reach the front of the dorm building, where Keith is patiently waiting while perched on a bench. "You got here pretty fast."

He's actually slightly surprised to find a panting, sweaty Lance appear in front of him with his hands on his knees and his body heaving as he tries to catch his breath. With the appearance of his tutor in front of him, he leaps to his feet, already beginning to take his wand out from his backpack, but Lance stops him with the flourish of fast hands waving at him to stop. 

"Keith! Hold on; nononono! Hold onto your horses there, cowboy! Let me catch my breath first!" Lance orders him loudly, still haven't yet caught his breath. 

The newer witch heavily sighs, impatience starting to bite him in the butt now as Lance takes a few  _longass_  moments to catch his breath. Gosh, even his panting is annoying! What is he, a pig or something? Only an animal would make that much noise while trying to catch their breath. When it takes Lance even longer to catch his breath than Keith expected though, the male fakes a cough into his fist to nab his attention. "Are you done yet?"

At this point, Lance has barely caught his breath, but hey, it's good enough for him! He straightens himself out to stand properly and readjusts the messenger bag across his body, huffing. Okay, now he can be properly angry.

"Keith, you can't just randomly call me and expect me to tutor you right here and now!" Lance rages, throwing his arms in the air to make his point. "What if I have classes or something?"

Keith crosses his arms across his chest with a stern expression on his face. "Well, you're lucky that I called you outside of class then."

"You can't just continue doing something like that!" 

Lance groans, bringing his fingers up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. Gosh, this guy was giving him a headache. . . 

"Look, can we pick a schedule and  _follow_  that schedule?" Lance suggests, whipping out his phone once again to actually cooperate. When he doesn't hear Keith cooperating himself, Lance casts him narrowed eyes. "Either we're making a schedule, or I'm not tutoring you."

That definitely seemed to spark Keith to move. Grumbling out a clipped, "Fine," he takes his red-cased phone from the pocket of jacket and unlocks it.

Both of them find their way to their respective calendar apps, both of which are littered with reminders of classes from the university's all-in-one schedule, gradebook, appointment-scheduling app. Lance's schedule is a little more cluttered with deadlines and other important dates, but Keith probably has a whole other unwritten schedule of his shifts at Vrepit-Sal's. Keith has to check the text messages with his boss for that.

"Okay," Lance says after scrolling his schedule, in-depth, "When are you free?" 

"Um," Keith answers, "My classes and lectures are usually every day except for Wednesday and Friday, but almost all of them end before four, so there's that. But work's got a leash on me on Monday from four-thirty to eight, Tuesday from five to nine, Thursday from seven to one in the morning, and Saturday from eight til two. Make something of that, but I might have random classes or shifts in-between, but I'll text you warnings before then."

When Keith finally looks up from his phone, one of the first things he notices is that Lance's eye is twitching. Lance's eye is twitching  _hard_. The tiny frown on his face is sharp, and he stares at Keith blankly. 

"What?" Did he do something wrong?

To answer his question, Lance steps forward, plants both of his hands on Keith's shoulders, and bends down so their faces are at an equal height. "I asked you to tell me  _when you're free_. Not," he says, enunciating 'not,' "to give me your whole entire damn schedule." Lance then releases Keith, taking a step back and bringing his head down again to his fingers again. That headache was sure coming in fast now, and Lance curses under his breath (to which Keith doesn't understand because it's in Spanish, and Keith only managed to barely pass Spanish class.) (But he thinks Lance called him a bitch.) (He'll let it slide though, because Keith is pretty desperate to have Lance as a tutor).

Anyways, so Lance finally returns his attention back to the task at hand. Luckily, he's also free on Wednesdays, except for perhaps after six to eight, in which he always has to set time aside to take care of Blue, since she is a familiar after all. Friday is a big no-no, as those are usually deadlines for fashion class. 

Lance pitches the idea to Keith. "How do you feel about tutoring on Wednesdays? I'm free anytime before six, but I'd prefer it if we did it closer to noon because I need my beauty sleep," he suggests, but it sounds more like a confirmation than a suggestion.

Keith has no qualms with this and nods, adding the events to his schedule. "Does around two sound good?"

"I have no problems with that." Lance - thankfully - has no other issues and has successfully scheduled the lesson, but the one other thing that bothers him? "How much are you paying me though?" After inputting the schedule into his phone, he lays wrist against his waist, quirking an eyebrow at Keith when the rookie witch seizes up, averting his eyes. "You  _did_  say you were paying me."

"I did, didn't I?" Keith sighs in defeat, going back to his moment of desperation not even twenty minutes ago over the phone. "I mean. . . What's your rate?" 

For a split second, Lance is tempted to say set some ridiculously high price: like a hundred an hour or something, but the sympathetic college student in him yells not to. Lance understands the financial struggle, and Keith is already working to support himself (which Lance silently notes seems to not be working, since Keith looks pretty lanky and scrawny under those fashionably grungy clothes of his. . . Compared to Lance himself, he means). He doesn't want the boy to work himself too hard. 

"Does twenty an hour sound reasonable?" Lance proposes, sounding sincere. "I mean, I can lower the price for you if you want, since I know we're college kids and all, but –"

"Twenty sounds fine," Keith butts in. "In fact, it's better than fine. Are you sure you don't want me to pay  _more_?"

"Can you actually afford that?"

The rookie shrugs, pulling out his wallet from his pocket and holding it open to show Lance the inside. As it seems, his job at Vrepit-Sal's pays more than enough; the boy carries at least fifty and several twenties in there, which makes Lance's eyes widen. "Whoa! I need to get myself a part-time job at that place," Lance comments.

Keith only shrugs and pockets the money. "That money is from tips," Keith admits with a sly grin. "They like my face. If you were to get a job there, I bet they'd only give you two cents, and that'll be out of pity."

"I can raise my rate up to a hundred an hour, you know."

Keith brings his hands up in defense with a slight chuckle. "I was joking! But seriously, I can pay more if you want. Heck, I  _want_  to pay you more; you're doing me a big favor. How does thirty an hour sound?" 

Lance pumps a fist in the air. "Now you're talking! It's a deal!" He brings his hand back down, offering it to Keith, who takes it with some sort of shit-eating grin and shakes it twice.

"I'll see you next Wednesday, teach." Keith releases and begins walking away backward, offering Lance a wave of goodbye. 

"Next Wednesday, bitch." Lance doesn't even bother saying bye to him, having already turning towards his dorm building. He was looking way too forward to this nap now that Keith was gone, that was for sure. But another thing he's sure of?

Lance hates Keith so much.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: God, I don't even know if this is good. I feel like Keith is super OOC. Please call me out if he's super OOC, I'll fix it I promise. I just want this to be good. Also, I left out the currency units because if we're being real honest here, I don't care enough to convert it from dollars to whatever currency you guys read, so leave it to your own imagination of w/e.

**Author's Note:**

> 1: For the sake of the story and parallel to the original series, I decided to make Pidge Lance's college roommate but will be using they/their pronouns only public settings but she/her when Pidge is around the other OG characters.


End file.
